Skipping Stones
by ShamRockCenter
Summary: Collection of drabbles, oneshots, and short glimpses into the lives of our favorite boys. Slash, yay!
1. Queers

**A/N: Modern Day Sprace. Slash. Bask in it!  
**

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**Queers**

David Jacobs, resident drama queen, scowled and tried to sound intimidating as he barked at his friends. "All I know is my Les Miz CD was in my car this morning, and now it's gone. And...the only person in my car between now and then was-Racetrack!"

David, Jack, Itey, and Snitch all shot questioning looks at the Italian, who tore himself away from Spot's mouth just long enough to glare at them.

Race's biceps tightening beneath the sleeves his muscle shirt and his thick boots ground his cooled cigarette butt into the ground. "Look," he snapped, Spot's lips moving to his neck. "Just cause I'm queer, don't mean I'm a fag."

His two bits said, Racetrack immediately straddled his boyfriend's lap and thrust his tongue into his mouth as if the twenty second separation had been intolerably excruciating.

Everyone stared.


	2. You Sexy Thing

**A/N: Pie Eater/Swifty and sexyboy!Bumlets… Now HE'S a keeper… Light slash but alas, 'tis all in good fun.**

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

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"C'mon, Pie. Just this once, run with me!" Bumlets begged his somewhat lazy friend as they strolled through Central Park.

Pie Eater shook his head vehemently as he exhaled loudly, his arms pumping at a perfect ninety degree angle. "Nope, no way, no how. Doctor Oz says that a healthy American walks for thirty minutes every day. Nowhere does he mention RUNNING. Ugh." He shuddered.

"But running gives you a sense of power over your body. And boys just love a sexy body." Bumlets waggled his eyebrows, tossing his glossy hair and flexing his abdominals in a rather attractive manner.

Pie growled, but didn't break his slow pace. "NO."

Bumlets pouted. "Fine."

The pair continued their walk in a stormy silence, but the tension was broken when a gorgeous Asian runner broke through them.

"Sorry!" He called over his shoulder, flashing a crooked grin at Pie, his feathery black hair tousled over his onyx eyes in quite the attractive manner. Pie was captivated, eyeing the Sex God's perfectly sculpted bum and rippling back muscles as he continued his run, shirt swinging back and forth from its residence in his shorts' back pocket. Pie looked like a caveman drowning in his own desire.

"You know, Bums, I hear running is quite healthy these days..."


	3. Boys Like Me!

**A/N: Oh, what listening to Christmas carols at midnight in August does to you... Dialogue in the fourth and sixth paragraphs belong to RENT because Angel cracks me up in "You'll See." WARNINGS: Implied slash, Spot being a good friend.**

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Disclaimer: I own neither Newsies nor RENT; I live only to delve into the lives of their perfect characters.

Spot bit his lip uncomfortably, shifting on his friend's perfectly made bed. The cool hues of the sheets correlated with the colors of the walls and carpet and it was all so perfectly clean, like a picture out of a magazine. In Spot's expert opinion, it didn't look like a sixteen year old boy lived there at all; there were no porno mags, dirty jeans on the floor, or even photos in remembrance of That Time Jack Got Us All Drunk. But David was a good friend and he had called asking for Spot to talk, which no one ever really did except Racetrack who didn't count because Race knew he'd get sex out of it, so Spot had to suck it up and be uncomfortable until David got out with whatever secret needed spilling. He wiggled around until the sheets became untucked from the mattress, wrinkles forming like waterways all connected to his skinny, awesome ass. There. That was a little better.

David was breathing somewhat unevenly and gripping his rather Jewish hair, muttering to himself in that David way as he paced across his pine forest carpet where the vacuum tracks were still visible. Knowing that he was probably killing Spot, whom he had called on a whim, he turned to face his friend.

Moving his hands to his hips, he took a deep, deliberate breath.

"Spot," he began slowly, his voice lower than usual, "I like boys."

And Spot, who had always vaguely assumed that his bookworm friend was asexual, kind of opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a minute while trying to think of some wise and relatable guidance to bestow upon his fellow pansy.

"Boys like me!" he finally blurted out, this being both the truth and the only words to come to mind. But after listening to himself speak, he decided to hell with sympathy; he was hot and would call Racetrack as soon as he got home because Race liked him and was certainly male.

David took a while to absorb this before grinning and clapping Spottie the Hottie on the shoulder. "Yeah, Spot. I guess they do."


	4. Opposites Attract

**A/N: Snittery fluff brought to you by a PM I sent to shinigami nanoda. I tried bribing an update with Backwalking!Skittery, and he sounded too yummy to pass up.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Seriously, how many Bohemian back-walking newsboys do YOU know? Disney's boys wouldn't do this.**

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Snitch couldn't help it. He was an economics major that relied greatly on computers and coffee to accomplish his practical needs. He was the kind of guy that always had perfectly straight creases on the edges of his pants and carried a folding ruler in his back pocket.

Still, he couldn't help his weekly appointments at a dingy raki place near campus. He even hated excessive physical contact, yet every Tuesday at 8:30 sharp found him lying shirtless on a threadbare mat, waiting for the beautiful masseuse of his longings and affections.

Really, Snitch couldn't help being in love with Skittery, Bohemian Back-walker extraordinaire. But if he could, he wouldn't change that half hour of heaven per week for all the software programs in the world.


	5. Trombones and Heartbeats

**A/N: For shinigami nanoda, because she has the common sense to love Snitey. Stay magnificent and write me Sprace NOW :).**

**And I know band camp ended like a month ago (at least for me), but I just can't help it. Band geeks will be band geeks.**

**A/N: The trombone section is decidedly the hottest in my band, as recently voted by myself and my fellow guard girls. And yes, Itey is being Itey-slash-my-band's-trombone-section-leader. And yes, there is ACTUALLY A LIVING PERSON WHO REMINDS ME OF ITEY. It's beyond brilliant.**

**Disclaimer: *Scrolls down list* I'm running out of these things... They're not mine. That's all.**

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There's really nothing phallic about the trombone, Snitch reasons. It's rounded, and metallic, and the slide extends in a manner that is in no way sexual.

Oh, no; there is nothing at all wrong with the trombone. It's the boy playing it that kills.

Everything about Itey screams "I'm flawless, bask in my beauty." Snitch can't help but admire his skin tanned from days on the field, the slight curl his tousled hair takes on as the day passes, or even the light sheen of sweat making a permanent settlement on his forehead and nose.

Don't even get him started on Itey's facials; the look of firm concentration that seems to never leave, the easygoing confidence that comes as part of being section leader, or that special smile reserved for his section because they are everything.

And that body-hot DAMN that body-the way his core flexes as he lateral marches; the sculpted calves and toned biceps. They say marching band doesn't count as a physical education credit because the gym teachers can't keep up.

But alas, Itey is a trombone player. Trombone! Snitch is a mere mellophone, and a he's a sophomore at that. What would a boy like Itey want to do with HIM...

But here! He's walking this way! Ohmigosh his FACE!

"Hey... Snitch, right?"

Say something. Anything. "YeahHiIteyHowIsYou?"

"I just wanted to congratulate you on getting into All-State. It really takes dedication to get that far. And talent."

"Thanks!" Ohmigod. Snitch melts.

Maybe this band crush thing isn't so hard after all.


	6. Mush

A nameless woman fought back tears as she approached a great stone facade. It seemed so cold and dim, certainly not the way she wanted her son to be raised. Sniffing, she raised her head against the Decemberish wind that cut at her cheeks like knives. She hadn't promised herself not to cry, but now she felt the urge to be strong for the child swaddled beneath her coat.

Upon reaching the steps, the woman removed the bundle from her breast and smiled, brushing the tiny, coarse curls off the sleeping newborn whom she loved more than life itself.

"Now, you listen here," she whispered, for all it was worth. "Just know that your mama loves you very much, and she wishes you could be together. But it ain't safe in our part of town for babies like you. Your daddy can't do nothing about it neither, great English man he is. You've got more of a future in this place than we could ever give you."

Hesitantly, the black woman banged the decorative knocker loud enough to wake the dead. This place was probably crawling with them, especially that night. As soon as she heard the slightest pitter patter of footsteps, she kissed her son one last time and lay him on the steps before disappearing into the night, sobs and guilt rattling her too-thin frame.

A young Irish nun with rosy cheeks opened the door, stifling a yawn. Seeing no one, she nearly closed the door before spotting the bundle on the steps. Quickly, the nun sprang forward and held him fast, freeing his chubby, caramel fists from their confines. She laughed heartily as he thrashed and gurgled around his blanket.

"Well, hello, wee one," she chuckled, shutting the door and walking to the fireplace to warm the both of them. "And a Merry Christmas to you."


	7. Test Results

Hey, this is Tony's phone. I'm probably off doing something much more important and sophisticated than answering your call, like drinking. Unless you're my mother, in which case I'm studying in library. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you!

"Hey, Race... It's me. I wouldn't just call you for this, but I don't think I can get off my couch right now. The results are in. They're positive.

I understand if you're done now. I mean, the risk is too great and all. I wouldn't blame you for never talking to me again.

Just know that I love you, and I always will. But why the fuck am I saying goodbye? I'll be fine. I've got life ahead of me.

Anyway. If you feel like coming over right now, I could really use you. I just want a hug. Bring me dinner.

I guess I'm not really in shock because we already knew, or at least thought we did. I just kind of wish I was. I don't want things to change. Our life is fucking fantastic, and I don't want some shit like this fucking that shit up.

Okay. Well, I love you... So, bye."


	8. Wilted

David couldn't stop crying. He wasn't sobbing, or weeping; the tears just poured from his eyes as if they were a faucet. And Jack Kelly had no idea why.

When his best friend has called him from the emergency room, he'd had no idea what to expect. A million possibilities had races through his mind, most centering around Sarah and her melanoma diagnosis, Esther's Alzheimer's, and Les' tendency to be a stupid teenager. But all he really knew was that David had sounded like hell and that needed to change.

Now, an hour later, they were huddled together on Jack's couch. David was clinging to Jack just to stay upright and Jack was running his fingers through Dave's thick, curly hair.

Sighing, Jack said softly, "Davey, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

David's breath hitched, just about the only sign of life he'd given since they'd sat down. He sat up slowly, facing Jack face to face.

"Sarah," he said slowly, "is no longer suffering from personhood."

Jack broke. So did Dave. So did Les, and Esther, and Mayer. And so did all the boys when they heard.

No one really knew how much they relied on sweet, young, lively Sarah until after she had wilted and gone.


	9. Home

**A/N: I LIVE. And I don't own Newsies.**

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A shrill bell sliced through the early morning lethargy and dozens of students quickly rushed to their seats.

David Jacobs had been sitting patiently for a quarter hour, sharpening his pencils and skimming over texts he hadn't been able to read during his absence. He had missed the sound of chalk scratching against the blackboard, the smell of pages turning, and especially the feel of his mind exercising its thought. David had missed learning.

Now, he smiled as his teacher welcomed him back and his classmates rolled their eyes. Because even though he loved being a newsie, being here just felt right.

And his smile stretched into an oversized, jubilant grin, because he knew he would see Jack in a few short hours, and they would sell the afternoon edition, and Jack would come over for dinner and regale their family with tall tales of western cowboys, and everything would be great. But for now, David was raising his hand to interpret the poem written across the blackboard, and it was as if he had never been gone, because now he was once again where he belonged.

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**A/N: I've recently read a lot of David-back-at-school fics, and in every one he was incredibly depressed and missed his days with the newsies. While I believe he missed the boys, I do think that he would have been happy to go back to school. He valued his intelligence and education. So, tell me what you think in a lovely review.**


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